The Dom Games

by Rachel Robinson

  For the first week, I yelled profanities and flipped so many goddamn birds that I thought my middle finger would fall off. When those unflattering photos showed up on online gossip sites, even the eight o’clock news, I decided it was best to hide and not give them any response. It’s hard. All I wanted was to blend in, study as hard as I could, and by the grace of God obtain at least one friend in this stuck-up yuppie town I desperately wanted to be a part of. To say I’m having second thoughts is an understatement. I miss my family.

  Tim blusters into my door and forces it closed behind him with two hands. After a deep breath, he turns and says, “It’s getting worse out there, Kayla. They are asking me questions. Van is getting a workout, that’s for sure. He’s like a wall of muscle. Be grateful.”

  At the mention of Van I fold my arms across my chest. “You know I’m not happy he’s out there, right?” How could I be? He reminds me of him, and of the awful decisions I made.

  Tim slides a bag of groceries onto the bar in my kitchen. “He’s out there so you don’t die the next time you decide to exit this place. It wasn’t Dom…I mean, you know, the producers wanted you to have security until the finale aired.” I think it’s because they don’t want me giving away any secrets, but talking about Dominic hurts, so I wouldn’t dare. Tim isn’t allowed to speak his name in a one-hundred-yard radius of my heart.

  “You’re lucky I don’t have any friends, or I’d be mad that you’re here,” I say, rummaging through the food he’s purchased. He came with Van, and I honestly couldn’t turn him away regardless of why he’s here. “Did you forget the hummus?” I move the lettuce and the grapes. “And the granola bars? Tim, I can’t go back out there.” I start to panic at the prospect of unlocking my door for cracker dip and granola.

  He smirks. “Then I guess you’ll be a hummus-less whore who doesn’t have granola bars.” He opens a bottle of flavored water and takes a sip. “You’re lucky that I want to be your friend, Kayla. Let’s get that straight. The men outside either want to take your picture for money, fuck you, or ask you questions about Dominic. I only want to bring you groceries and ensure the well-being of my favorite rummy companion.” When he says friend, I know he means it. Our relationship is platonic to a fault. If I wanted a man like Tim, everything in my life would be simple. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried to look at him differently, but his shaggy hair and too big eyebrows remind me of a Labrador retriever I want to snuggle. Dominic Reed ruined me for the rest of the male population on planet Earth. Someone with a booming voice screams my name from outside.

  “Fuck. I’m going to kill them. The next time you go to the store come back with a rifle, Tim. Thank you for being here for me. You know I appreciate you. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, though.” Tim looks away and clears his throat. Awkwardly, I comb my fingers through my long, blown out hair. Time locked inside permits me to do a lot of things I typically wouldn’t do. My asshole is not bleached or waxed. Thankfully I have the control of that back. “How long can they possibly stay out there?”

  “Until you give them what they want, I guess. A picture? A statement? Do you want me here when you watch tonight?” Tim’s apartment is next door. Sometimes that’s not close enough. The season finale of The Dom Games will shine into my living room like a beacon of my old life. His face will be hidden. I won’t have to see him. I don’t need Tim. I don’t think, at least.

  My parents are irate. My brother is disappointed. I think mostly it’s because my journal means shit now. He can keep those pages. The world has seen his sister’s orgasm face and knows the exact shade of my nipples. What can he possibly hang over my head after this? Everyone close to me is disappointed. They don’t understand why I didn’t leave after Mr. Reed so graciously paid for my college and then some. They will never know I’m in love with him. That makes it so much worse. They think the whole thing was a scripted ruse and I don’t correct their assumptions.

  I’m not some gullible woman who falls in love because the network dictates it. My morals are firm, and my wiles are sharp. Kayla Parchet doesn’t fall in love with strangers or bad men who prefer whips and harems. At first Tim asked me all kinds of questions about Dominic and how I could possibly fall for someone who is so narcissistic and moneyed. I didn’t fall in love with that man, though. Not the one who everyone thinks they know. I fell in love with the man he was with me. Those are two different people entirely. I’m confident his BDSM ways are something he uses as a crutch to guard his heart. A contract is something that can be ripped up any time a party is unhappy with the night’s orgasms. A marriage—not so easy to get out of.

  Tonight’s episode is something I need to submerse myself with alone. Tim can’t change the outcome, and viewing me in what is sure to be a negative light won’t make my solitary friend any more confident in my personality. I’m liable to break the television with my fist, or just cry uncontrollably. Emotions make for an unstable atmosphere. Sighing, I say, “Nah, Tim. I’ll call you later, though. You still headed out on the date tomorrow night?” Tim gets to have normalcy. And I, well, I get to live vicariously through him.

  He smiles. “I am. Are you jealous?”

  I scoff. “Why? You forget integral groceries and suck at cards. You also never clean up after yourself and call your best friend a whore. I’m not jealous of your date. I’m envious of your freedom.” The grin drops from his face.

  “It won’t be like this for much longer. People move on to the next big thing, and you’ll be able to fade into a regular life. The show and…him…will be behind you.” He’ll never be behind me. I think I’ll carry him around in my back pocket for the rest of my life. When someone changes you so greatly, you can never forget them. You can only hope to move on from them. “I bet all the paparazzi go home tomorrow. The episode will be over and the coverage will shift to him and the…winner.” It makes my stomach hurt.

  A change of subject is needed. “Tell Van he can head home. I’m not going anywhere for the rest of the night.” He also has an apartment in this extremely nice building. I switch on the enormous television and collapse on the couch. “Unless he wants to come hang out with me.” I waggle my eyebrows at Tim.

  He shakes his head. “You are such a slut, Kayla.” I throw a pillow at his head, but he merely laughs at me and leaves. I hear his key in the door locking it behind him. Grabbing the remote, I flip it to the network that airs The Dom Games and busy myself putting away groceries while listening to Gage recap past episodes. I forget the magnitude of the show—the reach around the country. It was easy to forget how big of a production it is when I was living it. I was a tiny piece, yet also a huge player in this. Watching the episodes at home are equal parts sheer terror and disbelief that I actually participated in something so sinister and sexual. It was always just Dominic and me. Everything else melted away.

  I change into a pair of skimpy boyshorts, grab a pint of blueberries, and focus on the hell in front of me. The second I see Jessy in the confessional in tight lace, I stick my tongue out at her. She looks high definition flawless as fake tears roll down her cheeks. Mascara smudges are non-existent because she told them to put on waterproof. My cell phone chimes on the linen sofa next to me, but I can’t tear my eyes away.

  “He told me he loves me,” Jessy says, looking up and to the left, trying and failing to keep her tears at bay. “But I don’t think he means it. He doesn’t look at me the same way as he looked at Kayla.” Oh my God. Is this for real? I lean forward and raise the volume.

  The Dom Games theme song cuts off her confessional and then a montage of Dominic in the playroom with all of the women from the beginning begins. I try to pick myself out, but there isn’t any footage of us. Swallowing hard, I try not to be offended, but he’s edited me out completely. That’s all it took. I didn’t make it off the editing room floor. So much for love.

  The footage rolls for longer than I think it should, and it eventually ends with Dominic holding a few dozen roses in front of his manhood, his face
obscured by dark shadows, but I’d know those abs and hands anywhere. I’ve seen this image everywhere. They’ve used it as promo for the finale. It’s on the side of buses, on the website, on all social media sites being shared like fucking wildfire. Dominic and his cock of roses. The irony isn’t lost on me.

  This isn’t like the rose ceremony in other reality TV shows. Not at all. The cameras cut from the image back to the women. Jessy and Christine kneel in their spotlights on the enormous stage. They look like little ants in a coliseum. When he approaches them I have to look away. Why am I even watching this? I’m glad Suzie was merely a guest and isn’t around anymore. It’s one less thing I have to be sick over tonight.

  The shouting outside reaches a fever pitch. Suddenly Dominic appears in a confessional—in a room I’m not familiar with. I’ve never seen a Dom go into the confessional. My heart races. His beautiful face isn’t hidden or obscured. He’s wearing a fine tailored suit and a grim face. He looks like my dark knight—my savior from mediocrity.

  Someone pounds on my door, but I can’t look away. There’s no way. Tim can just use his key. Dominic rubs his chin between his thumb and pointer finger—the stubble on his face echoing a scratchy noise that boom left in. I can’t breathe. The heartache intensifies tenfold.

  Dominic speaks. “There is only one winner on this show and it’s neither of the beautiful, wise women that are left, unfortunately.” I gasp. I’m sure everyone at home gasps. How could they not? He’s showing his face. He’s in the confessional…confessing. To what? My foot taps involuntarily against the floor.

  I watch as Tim fumbles in my door, followed by Van. I turn back to the screen. I don’t have time for them. “The audience deserves to see something real. Roll the footage,” Dominic says. Roll it does. I see my glossy lips on his full lips—a close-up with shadows and light so perfect that I throw my hand over my mouth as tears slip out of the corners of my eyes. The music is different, slower now, as the montage of Dominic making love to me commences. There are no toys or punishment scenes included in this footage. There are angles of my face, his hands gliding over the flat plane of my stomach, his lips. My God, his lips—worshipping me. This is love on video. This is heart on camera. This is raw emotion of pure quality entering millions of living rooms and bedrooms worldwide.

  “We have to get out of here, Kayla. Now. It’s not safe here anymore,” Van says, tugging me from the couch by pulling one arm. I don’t budge. I’m too busy choking on visuals. On love.

  “What does this mean? Why is he showing this? Is he trying to hurt me even more? Why is he being so cruel?” I ask no one and everyone, ignoring orders completely. Tears really come now. Tim appears from the closet with my suitcase as Van tosses me over his broad shoulder with ease. “Where are we going?” My eyes are glued to the TV. There’s no way I can tear them away from this compilation of our love.

  “The penthouse,” Van says, adjusting my weight across his back. He tells Tim to lock the door, but I manage to see the second the footage cuts back to Dominic in the confessional. His face is tortured, his fingers laced behind his head. His soul crushed to tiny, fragmented bits.

  “I fucking hate him!” I cry. “He destroyed me. He destroyed everything!” Tim looks at me, fear transforming his features. “Put me down! I can walk myself.”

  “She’s going to kill him,” he says to Van. “Put her down and she may not kill you, too.”

  Van chuckles under his breath. “You can walk if you promise to calm the fuck down.” He clears his throat. I affirm I can calm down, but I don’t stop crying. Not for all the tea in China. He’s ruined me. Sobs shake my shoulders and my breaths are shallow.

  He sets me down in the elevator. It’s now that I realize the small shorts I’m wearing and try to yank down my tank top in between sobs. “No one can get on this elevator. The penthouse is mine,” Van says to comfort me about my attire. “I’m only one person and there’s a couple hundred people outside trying to get to you, Kayla. You’ll be safer up here with me tonight.”

  I laugh, snort because I’m snotty, then say, “Don’t get all Kevin Costner on me, buddy. If I see a dick, I’m going all Lorena Bobbit on you.”

  “Jesus. Even at your worst your humor is still twisted as fuck,” Tim whispers. Van laughs and shakes his head.

  “I can’t believe he put me through that. He knew I would watch it,” I say. The elevator doors open and we’re in the foyer of Van’s spacious apartment. “Dominic couldn’t just pick a winner and go on his merry way. He had to make sure I felt it. I never want to see him again,” I yell at the top of my burning lungs. “Do you hear me? When you go back to him, tell him how he ruined everything. He didn’t think how this would make me feel. Dominic Reed is the most self-absorbed prick I’ve ever laid eyes on!”

  I’m barely through the threshold when he rounds a corner. He might be unrecognizable to the average person in the Harvard sweatshirt and worn out ball cap, but to me there’s no question. There’s never been any question, unfortunately. The rings of black that circle his eyes are torrid and they change his face completely. The song, The Dom Games song, booms from a room close by, and I know he’s been watching, too. The music sends a shiver down my spine. Memories. He saw exactly what I saw. More importantly, he’s heard exactly what I think of him.

  There aren’t greetings. I’m shocked and angry, but ultimately sad. “Why, Dominic? Why?” I step back, away from the man who destroyed me, and closer to Van and Tim. Dominic’s nostrils flare as his glassy gaze flicks over my body methodically. His fists clench by his side as I lean into Tim’s side.

  They usher me forward into safety, but I’m not safe, no.

  I’ve never been in more danger.

  “We need to talk,” Dominic says.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Diamonds are forever”

  Dominic

  My cock is hard and my chest feels like it’s splintering into two. Her bare legs are tan, and goosebumps rise on her arms and neck. “I can’t talk to you. I never want to talk to you again,” Kayla spits venomously. I heard her screaming tirade—she hates me. The on-screen montage had the opposite effect of what I was hoping for. She averts her gaze from my face. I look like fucking shit. Being away from her is torture. If I’m not thinking about her, I’m dreaming about her, or finding pieces of her in others around me. It’s a sick obsession. Nothing lives up to the live version standing five feet four inches tall, covered in salty tears, wearing her underwear in the company of my employees. “Excuse me,” Kayla says, brushing by, her scent hitting me in a strong wave. I inhale greedily. Yes. I need this. No matter how briefly, I tell myself. It will have to be enough.

  Tim folds his arms across his chest, and Van looks tired. I tell them I just want to talk to her for a few minutes, and they agree, Tim very reluctantly. He’s a better friend that I want him to be. He’ll need a stern talking to. Of course she found her way to the television airing The Dom Games. She’s sitting on the edge of a chaise chair, a throw blanket tossed over her bare legs. It’s the end of the episode and the host, Gage, is prattling on about how there are two official winners. Both Jessy and Christine will walk away with the prize money and loose submissive contracts will be drafted for each. They agree to the new terms happily.

  She sucks in a breath. “Both of them? You’ll be in a relationship with two at the same time? Why are you here, Dominic?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. Sadness creeps out, and I taste it in the air. Can I repair the damage?

  “I’m in a relationship with neither of them. Did you watch my confessional?” I know she did. After Kayla left the show it was the first time I had to try to act interested in the other women. My dick was on strike and my mind was elsewhere. When we filmed the last play scenes with the remaining two women a lot of editing helped bring them up to snuff. My mojo is off. Who would have thought my heart has a stronger pull than my fucking dick?

  Kayla rolls her eyes. “The whole world saw it. Why couldn’t you just lea
ve it alone? You didn’t think you hurt me enough?” I want to go to her, but I know she wants me to keep my distance. Watching myself with her on the screen forced a longing so deep inside me that I’m not sure how much longer I can stay away.

  “I can’t be around you right now. I understand that it’s a show and it had to go on, but I had to watch the man I love with other women being filmed for television. Fine. I left. You graciously provided the means for me to have a fresh start. I tried to start over, let you have your cake and eat it too, but this?” She waves her arm to the television. “Those scenes between us? How much more unbearable can you possibly make this? You told me you loved me. Love. I told you I loved you. I never expected you to stop me from leaving, but you let me go so easily.” Kayla stands and the blanket falls to the floor. I swallow down the lump in my throat. I wasn’t prepared for this. “Do us both a favor and go be with Jessy. Or Jessy and Christine, if that’s your bag, because the only thing you create for me is pain and problems.”

  Tim comes in the room. “You okay, K?” he asks. His voice is soft and concerned. He’s given her a nickname. I blow out a breath. Screaming at him to get the fuck out won’t win me any of Kayla’s favors at the moment.

  “Maybe I can stay at your place tonight, Tim. I won’t stay here for obvious reasons, and if Van isn’t sure he can keep the rats away from my apartment, maybe your place will be best.”